


A Ketchmas Carol

by 8thCyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apologies to Dickens, British Men of Letters, Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8thCyn/pseuds/8thCyn
Summary: Being a Ghost Story of ChristmasWith apologies to Charles DickensToni was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. He had killed her himself, although, having been assassinated himself shortly thereafter, there was no way to know if her body had been properly disposed of.Still, Toni was dead as a doornail. This must be perfectly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story that I will now relate.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Stave One

**Author's Note:**

> Posting schedule:  
> Stave One - December 1, 2019  
> Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits - December 6, 2019  
> Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits - December 11, 2019  
> Stave Four: The Last of the Four Spirits - December 16, 2019  
> Stave Five: The End of It - December 21, 2019

_Written as a gift to @abubu1986_

_ **STAVE ONE** _

Toni was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. He had killed her himself, although, having been assassinated himself shortly thereafter, there was no way to know if her body had been properly disposed of.

Still, Toni was dead as a doornail. This must be perfectly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story that I will now relate.

Arthur Ketch was happy that Toni Bevell was dead: he had never particularly liked her anyway, although she had been good in bed. But out of bed, their two cold, hardened personalities were like ice upon more ice, scraping against each other and leaving scars and divots in each other. They worked together for many years as part of the Men of Letters, UK Chapter, but only grudgingly.

And so, Ketch was alive, and Toni was dead. But oh, Ketch was hard and sharp as flint from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as a man addicted to garlic and phobic of brushing his teeth. The cold within him froze his features, stiffened his gait, and clipped his even colder words.

External heat and cold had little influence on Ketch. No warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than him, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty.

No one ever stopped him in the street to ask, “Ketch, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No shapeshifter asked for his mercy, no werewolf bothered to put up a fight. No person, monster, angel or demon ever asked the way to the home of Arthur Ketch. But what did Ketch care? It was as if wanted it, to move among the world, warning them all to keep their distance and leave him be.

Once upon a time - on Christmas Eve of all the days – Ketch sat in his London home – the house which had once belonged to Lady Toni Bevell before her “untimely” demise. He had spent the entire day going through lore books, looking for ways to track an archangel who most assuredly did not wish to be tracked, much less sent back to the horrific apocalyptic world from which he had come. The weather outside was biting and cold, but he could still hear people outside in the street laughing and singing as they walked by. He had to resist the urge to go to the window and yell at them to be quiet, as they were interrupting his train of thought.

The poor housekeeper who worked at the home, and had for most of her life, was doing her best to look after her new employer, in as far as he would allow it. He would not allow her to light a fire in the study, or turn up the heating, or bring him a cup of hot cocoa. If at any point Anna Cratchit dared to interrupt to offer food, or suggest that he get some rest, he would bark at her to mind her own damned business, and slam the study door in her face.

But then, in walked Oliver Ketch, a distant cousin of Arthur’s, and one of the few to survive the previous year’s “restructuring” of the Men of Letters, UK Chapter. “How are you this fine day, Arthur?” asked Oliver cheerfully. “A Merry Christmas to you!”

“I’d be better if people didn’t feel the need to barge into my home and wish me greetings for a holiday that I have little to no concern with,” Arthur replied drily.

“No concern? Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur! Besides, I only stopped by to ask you to come and have dinner with my family and I tomorrow night. Unless, of course, you already have plans for Christmas dinner elsewhere.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at Oliver. “And where, do pray tell, where would I be going for Christmas dinner? I do not have time or interest in friendships, and you, to my undying regret, are my only remaining family. But no,” he added before Oliver could speak, “I do not have plans for Christmas dinner, nor do I intend to have plans. I will be working, as I would on any other day.”

“Don’t be like that, Arthur,” Oliver said, laughing off his cousin’s ill humour. “Come and join us. You know how much Felicity enjoys your company.”

“That’s simply because she’s hoping I’ll sleep with her again,” Arthur replied, raising an eyebrow at his cousin to wait for the anticipated reaction.

But Oliver refused to take the bait. “I do hope that you’ll change your mind. The invitation stands,” he said, and excused himself from the room.

Shortly thereafter, Anna Cratchit knocked upon the study door. She did not wait for him to answer, but stepped inside. “Sir, is there anything I can get you before I go home for the night?” she asked. Anna lived in a small cottage at the back of the property, with her daughter, three grandchildren, and a little boy left abandoned when his mother had left home one day, never to return. Not that Ketch knew that or would have cared if he did. The truth was that she rarely entered his thoughts at all.

“No Anna, that is all. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Sir?” Anna asked cautiously. “Tomorrow, Sir? But tomorrow is Christmas Day.”

“And?” Ketch asked, not turning to look at the woman.

“Surely you aren’t expecting me to work tomorrow? My family… I…” she stammered.

Ketch stood up and spun around in one swift motion, heading toward where she stood. “I thought better of you, Anna,” he said. “I didn’t think you were concerned with that nonsense.”

Frightened of his sudden menacing appearance, but determined not to let him see it, Anna’s chin jutted out. “I have a family, Sir. They are expecting me to be with them for Christmas. If you would like to join us…”

Ketch snorted. “No Anna, that won’t be necessary. I won’t invade whatever little hovel you and your family reside in, which I’m sure is quite a relief. I won’t expect you tomorrow, then. That’s fine. Although I suppose you’ll expect to be paid regardless?” She didn’t answer. “Fine, fine. Pick my pockets. I have plenty of money, right? I will see you then, whenever you deem it fit to return to work. Good night, Anna.”

Anna nodded stiffly, then gratefully left the room.

* * *

Ketch continued to work, long into the night. It was late before he realized he had not eaten dinner, so he went to the kitchen to find the plate that Anna had left for him in the fridge. As he took it back with him to the study, he could have sworn he saw something that startled him, and he nearly dropped the plate. In the dying light of the fire that Anna had lit earlier that day without his noticing, he could have sworn he saw the face of Toni Bevell.

Shaking his head to dispel the image as a mere trick of the mind, he went back to the desk and continued his research. He worked so late that he did not even realize it when he fell asleep at the desk, his face pressed against the pages of a 900-year-old text handwritten by a long dead Man of Letters.

He slept until a booming sound from somewhere in the house woke him with a start. Grabbing his gun from where it sat beside a pile of lore books, he carefully opened the study door, peering in every direction to ensure all was clear.

He heard the BOOM again, this time most definitely coming from upstairs. Creeping up the stairs, gun at the ready, he moved towards the sound, which continued at strange intervals. Eventually he ascertained that it must be coming from his very own bedroom.

Throwing open the door, he was poised and ready to shoot at any sign of movement. There was no one who belonged in his house at that moment, so he would be more than justified in killing them. Not that he cared about any justification. He knew how to take care of messes; he’d had more than his fair share to clean up over the years.

But the sight before him was nearly enough to make him drop his gun. Luckily, he was far too skilled, and far too well-trained to let that happen, and he got off a perfectly-aimed shot regardless.

And then the figure was gone: it had not fallen to the floor, dead; it had not been blown against the wall. There was no sign of blood, or other assorted bodily fluids that would commonly be scattered after such a shot.

“Damn it!” he muttered under his breath, looking around for something iron he could grab if what he now knew must be a spirit returned.

“Looking for this, Ketch?” said a female voice beside his left ear.

Startled to see Toni Bevell standing by his side, he paused just long enough for her to whack him with a fireplace poker. The force of the blow made him briefly let go of his gun, which fell to the floor with a clatter.

He started to dive to the floor to retrieve it, but the gun floated up in the air, to the now suddenly out the window, and started to float away. He watched as it dropped out in the garden.

“Don’t even think about it,” Toni said as he started to turn and exit the room. The door slammed shut, and try as he might, he could not get it to budge.

“What do you want, Toni?” he asked, still attempting to wrench the doorknob open.

“Far more than I’m likely to get,” she replied. “Sit down, Ketch.” She motioned towards the bed, and he felt a force dragging him towards it against his will until he was sitting on the side of the bed.

“All right, I’m sitting. What is the purpose of your visit tonight, then? To kill me? Revenge?” he asked, his voice as smooth and buttery as ever, but inside his mind was racing and his heart was going even faster.

“Oh Ketch, don’t think I wouldn’t enjoy that immensely, but no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to help you,” she told him.

“Help me? That’s an extremely amusing though, Antonia. How exactly do you propose to do that?”

“Why do you think I’m here? And before you say it, I don’t mean here here, in this room. I mean, stuck in the veil, doomed to never really be anywhere?”

Ketch tilted his head and smirked at her. “Because you’re a giant bitch?” he asked.

“Yes, that,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “You need to listen: I am here because when it came down to it, I never gave a damn about anyone other than myself… not really, anyway…” She paused for a moment, looking wistfully out the window.

“Not that this isn’t fascinating, and far be it from me to interrupt your star gazing, but what does any of that have to do with me?” he asked impatiently.

“You don’t want this for yourself, Ketch,” she said, sounding irked. “And I have my reasons for not wanting it for you. So, you’re being given one last chance: over the next three nights, you will be visited by three spirits…”

Ketch groaned. “Toni, not that I don’t enjoy Dickens as much as the next person, but I’ve heard it before. Three ghosts, three nights… learning to appreciate Christmas… God bless us, everyone. Can we just skip to the end?” Toni’s ghost was suddenly on top of him, pushing him back on to the bed, her ghostly visage inches away from his own. “This time, you don’t get to skip to the end,” she said, and he felt her ice cold breath on his skin. “Foreplay first,” she whispered, before lowering her lips to his.

The chill of the kiss sent ice through his veins, but when the kiss was done, she was gone. 


	2. Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits

_ **STAVE TWO: The First of the Three Spirits** _

When Ketch awoke, the room was so dark that he could not distinguish between the transparent window and the opaque walls of the bedroom. He looked over at the clock, which was the only source of light in the room, and saw that it was just after midnight.

_Impossible_ , he thought. He knew it had been after 2 am when he had come upstairs. Perhaps Toni’s ghost had done something to the electrical system in the house. It was certainly possible. Not that the time mattered all that much. He would sleep a while longer, then sort out the time in the morning before getting back to his research.

He turned over but lay there thinking and thinking about Toni Bevell’s ghost, and what it could possibly want from him. Well, what it could REALLY want. Surely this Dickensian nightmare had nothing to do with its true purpose.

Back and forth, forth and back he rolled in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position in which to fall back asleep, but nothing worked. Just as he was about to give up and return to the study, he heard a noise, and sat bolt upright.

In the shadows he saw a figure, standing a few feet from the end of the bed, watching him. It was small; far too small to be an adult, but as it came closer, he saw that he knew the face. “Alexander,” he whispered, feeling all the blood drain from his face. “No, please no…”

“It’s all right, Arthur,” the ghost said softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

“It… it can’t be,” he replied, shaking his head insistently.

“But it is,” said the spirit. “You know what we have to do now, right?”

“Alexander, no…” he insisted. “No, don’t do this…”

But Alexander did not heed his words, and walked towards Arthur, reaching out to touch his sleeve. And at that moment, the two brothers disappeared from the room.

* * *

The next thing he knew, Ketch found himself standing in front of a huge stone building he knew all too well. “Kendricks,” he said, the very name leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “I would think this would be the last place you would want to be.” He turned, knowing that his brother was still standing beside him without even having to look first.

“You didn’t want to be here, either,” Alexander reminded Arthur. “You were devastated. You cried the night before we left home to go here.”

Ketch’s jaw clenched firmly. He said nothing in response. Alexander began to walk – nay, float – up the imposing staircase to where the building sat, high above the street level. Few people even knew it existed, such was the power of the cloaking spell on it; Arthur wished that he was one of the lucky ones to whom it was merely an abandoned shop in a dodgy part of the city.

They walked inside, and as Arthur followed his twin brother, he knew almost immediately where they were headed: to the dormitory where he had lived for the last part of his youth. He saw himself as a young boy, only eight years old, lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I didn’t want to go home for Christmas anyway,” his younger self stated sulkily to the young boy who sat on the edge of the bed beside him. The boy was his mirror image, but without the tears.

“Father said that it’s for the best if we stay here,” Alexander told him. “It will be less disruption to us, and less disruption to him and mother and Audrey. He said that Kendricks has nice Christmas celebrations, and we’ll enjoy ourselves.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care,” Arthur replied sullenly. But then he sat up and looked urgently at his brother. “But… do you think that Father Christmas will find us here? Do you think we’ll still get presents? How will he even be able to find the building, much less manage to slip in undetected?”

“I… I don’t know,” Alexander replied hesitantly. “Perhaps he has an agreement with the Men of Letters. They do that sometimes, don’t they?”

“I hope so… oh, I hope so!” Arthur said, before collapsing back down on his bed. “I can survive Christmas here, as long as Father Christmas still comes!”

“He won’t come, so don’t get your hopes up,” the Arthur Ketch of the present called to his younger self, who didn’t hear him.

“You know that this is only a shadow, Arthur,” said the Alexander beside him. “They can’t hear or see you.”

“Yes, of course. Are we done yet?” Arthur asked flatly.

“No, but we’ll move forward a few years, shall we?” Alexander said, but it was not a question. Arthur once again felt a chill as Alexander reached out and touched his arm, and suddenly they were in the library of Kendricks, as were the younger Arthur and Alexander, just a few years older. Three, to be exact.

Their older sister, Audrey, was there, and sitting in a leather armchair. Her beautiful face, usually so bright and full of life, was pale and flat. Her younger brothers stood stock still in front of her, and Arthur knew immediately what year it was.

“1985,” he said to the spirit Alexander. “Why would you bring me here? This is one of my worst memories… other than…” He didn’t – couldn’t – finish his thought.

“You need to see, and you need to remember, Arthur,” said Alexander. “Now listen.”

“Mother… is gone?” the young Arthur asked his sister in disbelief.

“And Father, too?” added his twin.

“It was just an accident, I promise,” Audrey said, her voice sounding tired and so much older than her years. “There was nothing supernatural about it. Their helicopter ran into some bad weather, that’s all.”

Arthur and Alexander looked at each other but said nothing.

Finally, Arthur spoke, “So then we’ll come home, with you? You shouldn’t be alone.”

Audrey shook her head sadly, her black curls falling in front of her face. She lifted a hand and pushed them back out of the way. “I wish that I could say yes. You don’t know how badly I wish I could. But Father… he… his will specified that the two of you must stay here and finish your education. I’m unable to do anything about it. And besides…” Her eyes dropped to the floor before she spoke again, so softly that the Arthur of the present could barely hear her, but he already knew what she was about to say. “I’m getting married.”

“What?” cried the two young boys in unison.

“You’re only nineteen years old!” said Arthur indignantly. “Who are you marrying?”

Audrey sighed. “Michael Sealis,” she told them. “It was arranged by Father a long time ago. It wasn’t intended to be so soon, but with Father and Mother being gone, Michael felt it better that we move up the wedding. His family is looking after everything. It’s to be in two months’ time.”

Arthur felt the same indignation that he had felt at eleven years old. “But he’s OLD!” his younger self protested. “He has to be over thirty! You can’t marry him!”

“I don’t know why I even bothered to say anything,” the present Arthur said to the spirit Alexander. “Even at that age I knew there was no arguing with the Men of Letters. In any other family, at that time, it would have been horrifying to think of an arranged marriage, but for families like ours, it was just accepted. Had to keep the Men of Letters’ future secure.” He spat out these last words like poison sucked from a rattlesnake bite.

Audrey pulled her young brothers close to her. “It will be all right, Arthur. I’ve received permission for the two of you to come and attend the wedding. And to come and stay with Michael and I this summer for two whole months. Won’t that be wonderful? Please, don’t worry about me. We already have so much sadness to deal with now, and it’s Christmas, too. Let’s just be a family. As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine.”

“If only that were true, eh?” Alexander’s ghost asked Arthur. “Until she and all three of her young children were killed by a shapeshifter bent on revenge against Michael Sealis before she even turned twenty-five.”

He touched Arthur’s arm again, and they were gone. A moment later, Arthur saw his thirteen-year-old self, saw the hallway outside Dr. Hess’ study, saw himself standing beside James Cranbrook, and recoiled in horror. His younger self had an expression of stoic determination.

“Do you know when this was?” Alexander asked him.

“Three days before Christmas break, 1987,” Arthur answered flatly. “My Code test.”

“I wasn’t there for it,” Alexander said, though Arthur needed no reminding of this.

“No,” Arthur replied, his voice even more bitter and brittle than previously. “You were dead. You allowed yourself to be killed, rather than kill a fellow student. You left me, the same as everyone else did, the same as everyone else always has.”

“I was never meant to be a killer,” Alexander replied.

“And I was?” Arthur shot back, as he watched Dr. Hess call his younger self and James into her study. Only a few minutes passed before Arthur emerged, bloodied but unhurt. His expression had not changed.

“Your life was never the same after that moment,” Alexander commented.

“My life changed the moment you died,” Arthur retorted.

“You became cold, ruthless. You followed orders… you allowed them to, for all intents and purposes, brainwash you into becoming a killer for them. There was only one way in which you remained your own man, wasn’t there?”

“How do you mean?” Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes at the translucent, shimmery form of his forever thirteen-year-old brother.

The now familiar chill shot through his body and his eyes closed involuntarily. When they reopened, he was no longer at Kendricks Academy. He was in his own house in London, back in his bedroom. But at the same time, it was not his house, or his bedroom. He knew it had to be another memory, because there was another version of himself there, and he was not alone. By the noises his companion was making, it was obvious that she was enjoying herself immensely.

“You shouldn’t be watching this!” Arthur hissed at the spirit of his brother.

“Are you ashamed?” Alexander tilted his head to look at Arthur. “Is this not an act of love?”

Arthur glanced over at the bed, where Toni sat astride him, her glorious breasts shimmering in the light of the fire as she ground her body against his with agonizing slowness. The him on the bed, obviously impatient with the process, grabbed hold of her hips and forced her into a faster rhythm. Her cries got louder and more insistent until he let out a low moan and his eyes rolled back, his face in a grimace of delicious release.

The Arthur who was not in the bed could still remember what it felt like to be inside of her, the softness of her skin, the softness of her breasts under his hands, and he realized his trousers suddenly felt far too tight. His face burning, he tried to turn away from Alexander’s ghost, but felt that chill, and the two of them were now standing at the end of the bed, as Toni now lay beside the other him on the bed, breathing heavily, face flushed, and smiling like he hadn’t seen her smile in years.

“Arthur?” she asked tentatively, not at all like he was used to hearing her speak to him.

“Hmm? What is it?” he asked her before yawning and turning onto his other side, away from her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, a little more insistently.

“So then talk,” he replied, but still stayed resolutely facing away from her. “I’m… listening.”

She hesitated, before touching his arm. “Would you please look at me, Arthur? I can’t say this to your back. It’s very important.”

He rolled his eyes and turned over. “Fine, will you just get on with it already?”

Sitting up in the bed, she bit her lower lip for a moment before taking a deep breath and saying the words he’d pushed out of his mind ever since this conversation had taken place. “I’m pregnant.”

The real, non-memory Arthur, stood at the end of the bed and watched as the shadow Arthur said, “Well, congratulations then. Is that all?” and rolled back over.

Toni looked as though she’d been slapped, but she didn’t give up. “I thought perhaps with Christmas coming that it would be a good time to tell my parents…” she started to say.

“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have a bastard grandchild,” he answered.

Her eyes flashed anger for a moment, but she kept her voice soft and sweet. “I thought it would be a good time to announce an engagement, along with the baby news…”

“Are you getting married, too? And I suppose you’ll be expecting two gifts, then…”

“Arthur, don’t be like this. You know it only makes sense. Two old guard Men of Letters families joined together and all. And the baby…”

“…might not even be mine,” he said. “We’ve been fucking on and off for years, Toni, but how do I know who else you might be shagging on the side? Could belong to the damned paper boy for all I know. You’ve always been slutty like that.”

“You bastard!” Toni spat out at him. “You know very well it’s yours, but what you have left of your cold, dead heart just won’t allow you to love anything, will it?”

“I suppose not,” said the Arthur in the bed.

The Arthur at the end of the bed wasn’t even sure whether the chill he felt came from another time jump with Alexander, or the ice in his veins cracking with the shame of his actions. But then he was back in the same room, in the same house, but alone. No memory-Arthur, no Toni, and no ghost of his dead brother.

He was cold, and alone.

He climbed back into the bed and buried his face in the pillow.


	3. Stave Three: The Second of the Third Spirits

Awakening in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Ketch had no reason to know that it was again just after midnight. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to him through Toni Bevell’s intervention. But finding that he grew unbearably cold, he had to think that the spirit must already be somewhere in the room.

He stood up from the bed and examined every inch of the room, but by all appearances he was still alone. He went to reach for his gun before remembering that Toni’s ghost had thrown it out the window and into the garden. Then he remembered the futility of shooting a ghost and sat back down on the bed.

A moment later he heard a noise that most assuredly did not belong in his house: it sounded like sleigh bells. He stood up again, crossed the floor of the bedroom as quietly as he could, opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

The noise was louder now, and seemed to be coming from one of the other bedrooms. He crept down the hall, stopping to listen at each door. The sound grew more and more obvious. When he put his ear to the last door in the hall, he was nearly blasted with sound as “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” erupted through the door, and he could have sworn amongst all the din he heard Father Christmas and his jolly laugh.

As quietly and carefully as he could, he turned the doorknob, but before he had the door open he heard a voice call out, “Come in! Come in and know me better, man!”

A bright light streamed out of the room, even though Ketch knew that the room had not been occupied in months, or probably years. He had to squint as he stepped inside, but even still he could see the entire room was full of presents, big and small, beautifully wrapped. Off to the side, on a long table, was a huge Christmas feast. And sitting on the bed, dressed as Father Christmas was a figure he certainly had hoped to never see again.

“Davies,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Mick laughed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Ketch.”

“Technically, I’ve seen many, but I suppose you’re the third in recent… days? How long have I been here? Have you been using some sort of ghostly narcotic on me to render me asleep throughout entire days?” Ketch asked, by then nonplussed to be conversing with a spirit of someone for whose death he felt responsible.

Shaking his translucent head, Mick told Ketch: “It’s not important now. Have you learned a lot so far?”

Ketch scowled at him. “I’ve learned that for some reason you all think I have time to waste on this nonsense.”

“Oh, this _will_ be fun then,” Mick said, hopping off the bed and gliding through the pile of presents as if it wasn’t there at all, which, truth be told, Ketch wasn’t sure it was. “Are you ready?”

“No!” snapped Ketch, but he felt an icy touch and knew his words had not been heeded.

Ketch looked around at the comfortable suburban home he found himself in. It was modest, nothing like the ostentation of Toni’s house, but decorated cheerfully for Christmas. “Where in the bloody hell am I, Davies?” he demanded.

Mick grinned but didn’t say a word.

“What time will they be here?” Ketch heard a woman’s voice call out.

A similarly vaguely familiar male voice responded with, “Any minute now. Do you need any help?” A moment later, Ketch’s cousin Oliver walked into the room and inspected the tree and gifts underneath.

“No, everything is under control now,” his wife Felicity said as she entered from what Ketch could only assume to be the kitchen. “I had my doubts earlier, but it seems to be going just fine now. Thank you for the help with the potatoes.”

“Of course, Darling,” Oliver said, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she stood beside him.

Felicity seemed to hesitate for a moment. “You don’t really think he’ll come, do you?” she asked her husband.

Ketch stiffened. His eyes shifted to Mick at his side, who didn’t seem to notice.

“He doesn’t have anyone else, you know that. And no, I don’t think he’ll come, but we must make him welcome if he does. It’s just… sad, the way he lives. No family, no friends. He’s a lost soul,” Oliver told her.

“I know, but he insists on bringing… _that_ up, and it’s so embarrassing. What if he said something in front of everyone at dinner?” she asked in a hush, despite it being only the two of them in the room.

Oliver squeezed her hand. “He wouldn’t. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he knows how to behave when he wants to. And even if he did, you know it doesn’t bother me. It was a long time ago, before we were even dating. And you chose me, didn’t you?”

She shuddered a bit. “He was so _cold_ about it. Clinical, almost. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I don’t like to be reminded of it.”

“Wow, nice review, Tiger,” Mick commented from beside him.

“Oh, do shut up, Davies. At least I can still _have_ sex, unlike some spirits I know.”

“And whose fault is that?” Mick asked drily. “Now, are we going to continue taking the piss out of each other, or are you going to learn your lesson?”

“What in the bloody Hell am I supposed to be learning from all of this? Before it was all my own memories, and it isn’t as if I didn’t know they’d happened… and now it’s what… a lesson that no one likes me? That’s hardly news, Davies. This is a waste of time, and I’d thank you to take me back home.”

“Not yet,” Mick replied cheerfully.

While Ketch and Mick had been talking, Oliver and Felicity had been continuing preparing for their guests, and just then the doorbell rang. Oliver gave his wife another kiss and went to answer the door.

Ketch had a vague notion of the guests’ identities but was completely indifferent. He wondered why Davies hadn’t taken him somewhere else by that time. But then he felt the chill, and although they hadn’t left the house, time had passed, and the guests were all at the dinner table.

“I have to say, this has been a lovely evening,” said one.

“And I’m sorry if this is rude, but I’m terribly relieved that your cousin didn’t appear after all, Oliver,” said another. There were nods and murmured agreements from around the table. Ketch’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not,” said Oliver. “He’s lonely, although he’ll never admit it. He needs family, and friends. I wish he’d come. But I’ll just have to keep asking until he eventually gives in, if not for Christmas, then for Easter, or just for Sunday dinner. I’m not giving up on him.”

Before Ketch could even process this information, he felt a chill and suddenly he was in a place all too familiar: The Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, in America. It was decorated, albeit somewhat strangely, with a tree in the corner of the War Room, covered in strings of popcorn, cheap tinsel, and plastic Christmas balls and homemade paper decorations. Paper snowflakes hung around the room. He could smell turkey roasting, but the sitting on chairs, and on the floor around the tree, were Castiel, Jack, and the Winchesters.

“Mary,” Ketch whispered under his breath. She looked lovely: happy and smiling, relaxed in jeans and a bulky red wool sweater.

All of them were laughing, and Jack was happily passing out gifts to various family members. Wrapping paper was strewn around the floor.

“Why am I here?” Ketch asked, his voice no longer as controlled as he preferred it to be. It was difficult, watching Mary with her family, happy, knowing that she wasn’t sparing a thought for him. He would never have admitted it, but it might have been the hardest thing he’d witnessed thus far.

“No reason, I suppose,” Mick replied, and reached out to touch Ketch’s arm.

“Wait!” Ketch cried out, not yet ready to leave, but it was too late. He was in his own garden, such as it was. He hadn’t bothered to have gardeners in that year, and what was left was a tangled mess of dead weeds and perennial plants that had managed to survive the neglect.

“I think you missed,” he told Mick.

“No, I didn’t,” Mick answered, as he started heading away from the house.

Sighing, Ketch followed him. “You know, if we stop now, I won’t tell if you don’t. We can just tell Toni that we did all of the visiting we were supposed to.”

“You think I report to her ladyship, do you? Hardly. Now, let’s get this done, shall we? I’m not really any more interested in spending time with you than you are with me.”

Ketch stopped dead in his tracks. Well, not “dead” in the way that Toni was dead, or that Mick was dead, but he stopped suddenly when he saw the cottage he had never noticed at the back of the property. “Is this really here, or is this another of your tricks?” he asked Mick.

“It’s been here longer than you’ve been alive, Mate,” Mick answered, before touching Ketch briefly on the shoulder, transporting them inside the structure.

Ketch raised an eyebrow at what he saw inside: three children in flannel Christmas pyjamas running about, so rambunctious that he could barely keep track of all of them at the same time. A moment later, a woman who appeared to be in her early 30s entered the room and shouted, “Peter! David! Marnie! Cut it out NOW!”

All three children stopped immediately. “Sorry, Mum,” one of the boys muttered.

“Nan has almost got breakfast ready. Go wash up. We’ll open presents after you’ve had a good breakfast,” the woman told them, but she was smiling now.

“Yes Mum,” all three of them chorused before running out of the room.

“I’m getting bored,” Ketch told Mick. “I haven’t got a clue why these people live on my property, or who they are. What am I supposed to be seeing?”

But before Mick could answer, Ketch was surprised to see Anna enter, wiping her hands on an apron. “What the Hell?” he asked, not for the first time.

“Didn’t you ever wonder where Anna lived?” Mick asked.

“Of course not! Why would I?” Ketch answered, back to sounding bored with the whole thing.

“How is he?” the woman asked Anna, concern in her tone.

Anna shook her head. “He’s no better.”

“I’ll go get him and bring him down to have breakfast with the others, Mum. He’ll like that. And then we can all open presents together.”

Ketch watched the younger woman leave the room and found himself curious about the identity of “him.” But after she left, he turned to Mick. “Is that Anna’s daughter?”

“Kate, yes, and her three grandchildren. Kate’s husband left two years ago, so the four of them moved in here with Anna,” Mick explained.

“There are five people living in this tiny shack?” Ketch asked. “In my back garden?”

“Actually, there are six,” Mick answered. At that moment, Kate entered the room again, this time carrying a young boy, perhaps six or seven years old. “Meet Alexander.”

“It’s like a bloody clown car in here,” Ketch sighed. “And isn’t he a little old to be carried around? Oh, wait, this must the Tiny Tim of the story? What, another grandchild from some other son or daughter? An abandoned orphan she picked up at Paddington Station?”

Mick crossed the room and stood beside the arm chair where Kate put Alexander down. She carefully wrapped a blanket around him and kissed him on the top of the head. “Abandoned, yes, but not at a train station. “This is Toni’s son, Alexander. Anna brought him here to live with her after her ladyship never returned home.”

Ketch felt the blood drain from his face. “Her… son, you say?” he asked, haltingly.

“Your son. Not that he knows that, of course. Anna does, though. Toni made Anna promise that if anything ever happened, Anna would never let you anywhere near him. So, since Toni’s parents are both gone now, and she had no other family, Anna brought him here to live with her.”

A million questions rushed through Ketch’s mind, none of which he wanted to ask, but all of which he wanted answers to. “He doesn’t look well… isn’t she taking care of him properly?” he asked, his voice harsh and short.

“Of course she is. Anna loves the boy as if he were her own grandson. Kate and her children adore him, too. He’s a bright boy, kind, compassionate… sort of like you were before life got to you,” Mick replied. “But he’s never recovered from his mother’s disappearance. He isn’t ill, exactly, but he isn’t well, either. They’ve tried everything, but he just isn’t getting better.”

A look of alarm crossed Ketch’s face. “Are you saying he’s dying?” he demanded of his former colleague’s spirit.

“You’ll have to see, won’t you?” Mick asked with a brief touch to Ketch’s arm.

And the cottage, and all its inhabitants, disappeared into the blackness.


	4. Stave Four: The Last of the Three Spirits

_ **STAVE FOUR: THE LAST OF THE THREE SPIRITS** _

If Ketch had thought his bedroom dark before, he had no idea of the all-encompassing darkness in which he would find himself after Mick’s spirit departed. He felt certain that he was not in his house, but he had no idea where he was. He was standing but couldn’t feel a floor beneath him.

He pushed out carefully with arms first, and then one leg at a time, but touched against nothing. Even though the air seemed fine, the darkness, the lack of anything, was suffocating, and he had to force his breathing into a normal rhythm.

A light began to beam over his shoulder, although it illuminated nothing at all. He whirled around and saw the source of the light: a hooded, dark figure that seemed to emit just enough light from within itself for him to know it was there in the shadows it created.

Ketch no longer felt bored, or angry by the experience. This, this was enough to, for the first time in many, many years, instill true fright in him. But he did not wish to show it, and so he attempted to keep his voice steady as he asked, “I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?” He even managed a note of sarcasm, as he so obviously quoted from Dickens.

The spirit did not answer, but held out the arm of its robe, indicating that they were about to journey forth.

“You’re going to show me what horrible things are to come? _Scared Straight: Christmas Edition_ , yes? Well, let’s get on with it.” He reached out and touched the spectre’s robe, although his stomach churned, and he felt sweat pooling on the back of his neck.

This time, the chill was much, much worse than it had been with the other two. Even after they had arrived at their destination, he felt as if he might never be warm again. He shivered, in spite of himself, and rubbed his own arms in an attempt to warm up.

They were back in the American Men of Letters bunker, in Lebanon, Kansas. The Winchesters looked slightly older, but still were the same happy family he’d seen previously. But this time, Bobby Singer was with them, sitting by Mary’s side.

Ketch felt a jealous rage building within him. “How many years from now is this?” he asked the hooded spirit, although as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was pointless to ask. The figure was turning away from the scene and beckoned him to follow. “So they’re still happy, and I’m still miserable, is that it?” he grumbled as he trailed after the spirit. Turning back to look at the scene once more, he found himself reluctant to be taken away.

The spirit did not give him the option and reached out for him instead. Ice flooded through his veins, and the blackness returned for a moment before it began to spiral and whirl in front of him. He dropped to the frozen ground with a thud, unable to keep his balance. He stood up, attempting to regain some of his dignity while the spirit watched with apparent disinterest.

“And now the obligatory graveyard scene, wherein you show me my cold, lonely grave where no one mourns my loss, yes?”

The spirit’s only response was to hold out an arm. One finger extended from the robe’s sleeve, pointing in the opposite direction.

Ketch rolled his eyes. “Fine, let’s get this over with, shall we?” He turned and walked in the direction the ghost indicated.

Anna and Kate were standing huddled together by a small grave. Anna was sobbing. “I should’ve done more for him,” she said through her tears.

“Don’t be daft, Mum,” Kate said gently. “You did everything possible, and Alexander knew how much he was loved. He was a good, sweet boy… he just deserved so much better. If he’d had a half-decent father…”

“Well, that’s certainly a pointless wish,” Anna responded, her words biting and cold. “Never wanted anything to do with the boy at all, that heartless monster.”

“That’s hardly a fair classification!” Ketch complained to the spirit, even though the spirit was paying no attention to him, whatsoever. He paused for a moment as the entirety of the situation hit him. “So, my son is dead by… 2020?” He had taken the date from the small stone.

“Do you think he’s really dead, too?” Kate asked her mother.

“We can only hope.”

“But Mum, what will happen to us? Who even owns the house, and the property now?”

Anna shook her head. “I have no idea. It isn’t as if poor little Alexander had a will, and besides, we can’t even prove that his poor mother is gone. So, I suppose her trust will keep paying the bills for now, and that should give us time to figure things out. I won’t let my family suffer, I promise you that much. I couldn’t help the poor darling, but I won’t let you and the children down, Katie. I won’t.”

The two women paused for a moment at the graveside to say goodbye. Anna straightened out the flowers placed there before kissing her hand and patting the gravestone with it.

Ketch looked at the spirit. “So, I’m dead, too, I suppose. That’s the idea? Again?” As expected, the spirit said nothing. “And no one cares? I have no one to look for me? No one to miss me? My son is dead, and I never even met him. Never knew his name until now, or that he’d even been born, for that matter. Well that is just WONDERFUL. But if it’s supposed to have some fantastical impact on how I live my life…”

The spirit didn’t even acknowledge his comments, but reached out and touched his shoulder, sending him once again into the darkness. He found himself once again at the bunker, but now the Winchesters and their family were sitting around the table, with a Christmas feast.

“I think your lessons are a little bit off,” Ketch grumbled. “I realize that they all seem to have a collection of the same three shirts, and in the angel’s case, a closet full of trench coats that are inexplicably worn inside as well, but this still appears to be the same day you’re showing me.”

“Good thing we didn’t let Mom cook the turkey,” Dean teased, “or it’d be a pile of ashes, too.”

“Do we have to discuss that at the dinner table?” Mary asked, but a grin played around the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, but Mary,” Jack said, his eyes wide. “You should’ve seen it! Rowena just disintegrated him!”

“Just like you used to do to those douchebag angels back in my world, eh?” Bobby said with a smile, which Jack eagerly returned.

“Yeah, I miss that,” Jack answered wistfully.

Bobby lay his fork down for a moment. “Well, it’s too bad in a way: Ketch was a lot of help over in our world, but from everything you’ve told me about what he did before over here, and the way he treated Rowena, I suppose it’s not that big of a loss, really.”

“What did I do to the witch?” Ketch asked indignantly. “And she what? Incinerated me?”

“Boys, please, can we not talk about this at Christmas dinner?” Mary interrupted, as conversation around the table had continued regarding Ketch’s apparent demise.

“Thank you, Mary,” Ketch muttered under his breath. “At least you understood… even after everything, you…”

“…talking about Ketch is enough to turn anyone off their food,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

“Mary!” Ketch cried, shocked. “I thought that we’d resolved our… We talked over there! She understood that I was doing my best to protect her… I never wanted her to be harmed… but now she’s what? With that old man? And she hates me, too? Mary… no…”

He turned to the spirit. “Are we done now? Just take me home, will you? I don’t want to see any more…” He sounded defeated, exhausted and broken.

The spirit reached out a hand, but instead of reaching for him, it pushed back the hood. It was a teenage girl; he only vaguely recognized her. She had mousy, scraggly chin-length brown hair, and deep brown eyes, and her skin was pale, with a green tint to it. In the middle of her forehead was a bullet hole he immediately knew he was responsible for.

“It’s not too late… yet,” she said.

Ketch narrowed his eyes at her. “You aren’t supposed to talk,” he said.

“You can direct your complaints to Charles Dickens,” she told him. “Do you remember me?”

He thought for a moment. “You were the girl – the psychic girl – the one the Winchesters let get away. What do you want from me?”

“My name was Magda,” she said. “Not _the psychic girl_. And I never wanted to hurt anyone. You didn’t either, did you? It’s too late for that, but it’s not too late to change, going forward. This doesn’t have to be you, but you have to be willing to make the change.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She pulled her hood back up, shadowing her face once more, and reached out for Ketch, who was once again swallowed by the darkness.


	5. Stave Five: The End of It

_**STAVE FIVE: THE END OF IT** _

The bed was his own, and the room was his own. Ketch breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at the clock: it was 6:00 am. “What day is it?” he muttered. “It must be Christmas Day… that’s how the story works.”

He jumped from the bed and began to search for his phone, or for some way to tell for sure what date it was. He couldn’t find anything.

He exited the bedroom, into the chilly hallway, and ran down to the end bedroom. There was no sign of the Christmas festivities Mick had left there.

Heading for the stairs he went straight to the study, and found his phone still lying on the table beside the pile of books he’d been studying. It read December 25th, 2018. He collapsed into the chair, head in his hands, trying to wrap his mind around everything that he’d seen and heard.

“What am I supposed to do now? Call out to some boy in the street to go buy an enormous goose? Buy out a toy store? Go Christmas caroling? Join the Salvation Army?” he asked, to no one in particular.

“I’m sorry, Sir?”

He whirled around to see Anna standing in the doorway of the study. “I thought you were taking today off,” he said, far more harshly than he’d intended.

Used to his bad attitude, Anna didn’t even flinch. “I thought I should perhaps come and make absolutely certain that you didn’t need anything,” she told him.

“I’m fine,” he said, then: “what about you? Is there anything you need, Anna?”

This time, Anna did flinch. “Me, Sir?”

He shifted uneasily in his chair. The feeling of extending kindness to anyone did not come naturally to him. “You, or your family… is there anything you need… to have a happy Christmas?”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Ketch,” she replied. “I believe we have just about everything we need, though. In fact, if you don’t need anything, I’ll be getting back to them.”

“I’m sure your grandchildren will be eager to open their presents, will they not?” Ketch asked.

Anna’s jaw dropped momentarily, but she gathered herself together quickly. “I didn’t know you knew about them,” she replied, “but yes, they’ll be quite eager, I’m sure.” She paused, then: “I’ll be going, then?”

Ketch stood up and walked over to the window, looking outside. “Of course, Anna,” he told her. “But…”

“What is it, Sir?”

He continued to stare outside at the quiet street for a moment. “Would it be all right if I stopped by, to wish everyone a Merry Christmas? Perhaps drop some things off? I’d very much like to meet… everyone.”

“Of course, Sir,” she replied. “You’re always welcome.”

It felt awkward to smile at her, and he was certain his face must look twisted into a grimace, rather than in an actual smile, but he did it anyway. “I’ll see you shortly, Anna. I’m especially looking forward to meeting Alexander.”

She let out a quiet gasp, and quickly made her escape.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He bribed a store owner to open and let him choose piles of toys and games as gifts, then took them back to the house and had to teach himself how to wrap them, which was even more frustrating than learning Enochian. Then he piled them all on a wheelbarrow he found in the garden shed and wheeled them to Anna’s cottage (along the way, finding the pistol that Toni’s ghost had dropped into the garden, and putting it into his coat; after all, Christmas spirit or not, he needed to be careful.)

Despite his already stated intention to come by, Anna still looked shocked to see him, and she was far more shocked when she saw the gifts he had with him. His heart sank when he saw Alexander looking so thin and pale, but he spent hours with him, talking and getting to know him, and the more they talked, the more the boy began to perk up. It was the first time in many, many years that Ketch had felt as if he was truly in the presence of family, and he felt ashamed for all the time he had missed with his son.

At the end of the day, after he joined them for their wonderful Christmas dinner, he asked to speak to Anna alone. “I know what Lady Bevell told you,” he said, “and I know how much you care for Alexander, but I want to be with my son. I promise you, I will put his welfare above anything else in my life. I’ve made many mistakes, but the biggest one I ever made was not being part of his life from the very beginning. Do you understand?”

She did not answer at first, then nodded cautiously. She had witnessed the interactions between father and son – even though the son still did not know who the kind stranger was – and she believed him when he made his vow. He seemed different, though she didn’t know why, and she knew keeping them apart would not be in anyone’s best interest. “Then perhaps you should introduce yourself to your son,” she said finally.

This time he smiled, and no one could have mistaken it for anything else but genuine joy.

* * *

Alexander’s entire face lit up as he began to understand what he was being told. Plans were made to move him back to the main house the very next day, with frequent visits from Kate’s children, who had become like siblings to him. Ketch stayed that night to tuck in his son for the very first time, and once the boy was asleep, he joyfully went back to the house that would soon be a true home. He knew, with access to so many healers and so much magic, that he could solve any physical ailment wrong with the boy, and he knew, with time and love, that he would mend ailments of the soul, as well.

When he arrived back at the house, Ketch went straight to the study. He had one last thing he knew he needed to do. He carefully built a fire in the fireplace and paced for a few minutes while the room warmed up. Then he sat down, away from the desk, in a comfortable armchair by the fire, and pulled out his phone.

Impatiently, he waited for the recipient to pick up his call. “Hello? Is everything all right, Ketch?” asked a woman’s voice.

“It is now, Mary,” he told her. “I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas.”


End file.
